


Like a Hurricane

by kiss_me_cassie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Past Relationship(s), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Unreliable memory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 18:59:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14291334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiss_me_cassie/pseuds/kiss_me_cassie
Summary: "I shot you. In Odessa," James finally said. "And again in Washington. But I knew you before then."





	Like a Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> For Athena, who wanted Bucky/Nat history. And Alpha, who helped nudge me along on this even though I didn't actually wash his hair. *g*
> 
> Tons and tons of thanks for Crazy4Orcas for her continued cheerleading and betaing!

She knew it wouldn't be a piece of cake, but breaking in turned out to be little harder than Natasha thought it would be. But it was nowhere near impossible and, after a few minutes of fiddling, the lock finally clicked and she was in.

She folded her tools away in their pouch and tucked them into her back pocket, then silently entered James' bolthole. The room was dreary and sparse, with a tiny kitchenette in the corner, a small table and two chairs in the middle of the room, and a bare mattress with a blanket on the floor next to the wall. A door next to the kitchenette led to what she assumed was an equally dreary bathroom.

But the place was clean, so at least he was taking some care of himself. The question was, was he merely in survival mode or was he making an effort to return to the man he used to be?

With no sign of anything personal anywhere to give her a clue, she decided the kitchen was as good a place to start as any. Maybe he had something hidden away in a drawer or a cabinet.

She'd just slid open the top-most drawer when there was a noise behind her. She spun around to find him bursting through the front door, a canvas bag in one hand and a deadly looking knife in the other.

She barely had any time to react, let alone reach for a weapon or set up a defense. Thankfully, a vague flash of recognition flared in his eyes when he saw her face and he halted just seconds before throwing the knife. She had no doubt that if it hadn't been for his enhanced super soldier reflexes, she'd have a knife in her chest that very second.

Thank god something about her had sparked a memory of some sort in him.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he demanded, knife still held at the ready to throw at a moment's notice.

"An old friend," Natasha said quietly, standing perfectly still lest he decide she was better off dead after all. "I was waiting for you."

James narrowed his eyes and she could practically see him trying to gauge how much of a threat she posed. She figured she probably ranked somewhere around _dangerous but not worth engaging unless directly threatened_. After all, she had broken into his apartment, but so far she hadn't done anything directly to him. Nor had she produced a weapon of her own or attacked.

She figured that had to be worth something in buying her some time.

It seemed her assessment was correct, because rather than strike out, he tucked the knife back into the waistband of his jeans.

"I don't have any friends," he said as he kicked the apartment door shut behind him.

With a barely audible breath, she relaxed just the slightest bit. "You used to."

He didn't ask how she knew that or why, just continued to stare unwaveringly at her.

"How did you get in?" he demanded gruffly. "The door was locked. I made sure of it."

"I'm a Russian spy," she said, lips twitching. "Or I was. The same as you. Didn't take more than a few minutes to break in."

"I'm not a spy," he said slowly, forehead creasing in confusion.

"Would you prefer I called you assassin instead?" she mused. "I suppose I could but spy seems so much… Cleaner. Neater."

The lines in his forehead deepened, and she almost felt bad for baiting him.

That was, until his eyes darted to the window. She supposed it was partly a play for time and partly to determine how successful he might be if an escape was still needed. She didn't want to spook him and send him on the run again, so she stayed where she was and tried to appear as non-threatening as she could.

"Do you remember me?" Natasha asked.

He studied her for several long, silent moments.

"I shot you. In Odessa," James finally said. "And again in Washington."

She nodded. "Yes."

There was a pause and when he spoke again, his voice was hesitant, as if he wasn't quite sure if what he was saying was true.

"I knew you before then. Before Odessa."

Natasha nodded again.

"I'm not the same man I was back then, or… before," he said quietly.

"No, you aren't," she agreed with a miniscule smile. "I'm not the same girl I was back then either."

His eyes narrowed. She could tell he recognized her, but it seemed he still couldn't quite figure out their exact connection. She waited patiently while he put it together. It wouldn't do to rush him, not at this point.

"We were lovers," he said suddenly.

It was a statement, not a question, but she answered him anyways. "Yes, a long time ago."

His eyes darted away from her again then returned, this time settling on her necklace. "You're with someone else. The person who gave you the arrow."

She shrugged. "Sometimes. Not always. It's complicated."

He let out an amused snort, the closest thing to any real emotion she'd seen or heard from him so far.

"Is that funny?" she asked curiously, tilting her head at him.

"Kinda. _It's complicated_ ," he mimicked, shaking the hair out of his eyes and almost but not quite smiling at her. "When hasn't it been?"

Her lips turned up just the slightest. "Hardly ever." She paused. "Do you remember more now?"

He extended his hand palm down and waggled it back and forth. "Some. Not everything. It comes and goes in waves." He was silent for another long moment, studying her with a strange expression. "Your hair used to be redder. And longer. Curlier."

"Hair changes," she countered with a small smile. "There are a lot of things about me that have changed."

James nodded. "Me, too."

"Like two peas in a pod," she said with a smirk.

This time he chuckled outright, though it sounded rusty and unused. She imagined there hadn't been much in his life to laugh about recently.

"You're a bit of a mess," she observed, tipping her chin towards his dirty mop of hair and the multiple scratches on his face.

He grunted, shrugging off her concern, and moved deeper into the room to set the canvas bag he carried onto the table. "Got into a scuffle at the marketplace."

"How about we do something about it? Clean those cuts, maybe wash your hair?"

He grunted again, but didn't say no. One by one, he removed fresh pears and figs from his bag and set them carefully on the table.

"Is it ok if I touch you?" Natasha asked, reaching out her hand but halting inches from his face.

"Can't stop you," he said with a shrug as he folded the bag and set it aside.

"You could if you really wanted to."

"I won't," he assured her, letting her get close enough to reach up and thread her fingers through his tangled hair. In addition to several minor scrapes, there was a large cut near his temple. Most of the blood around it had dried, but the cut itself still looked raw.

She grabbed a dish towel from next to the sink and wet it under the tap before turning back to him and gently dabbing at the cut and the surrounding area. He closed his eyes as she worked on him and she realized with a start that he looked almost relaxed.

"You never did mind me touching you, did you?" she mused as she continued gently cleaning the wound and the smudged and dirty skin around it.

"Only you," he confessed, tipping his head closer to hers. "Not the others. You were... special. "

She turned his head and kissed his cheek tenderly. "So were you."

"Natalia," he breathed, turning his head even further and catching her mouth in a hot, hard kiss.

It caught her unawares, but once she got over the shock of it, she was able to appreciate the warm feel of his lips, the slight fruity taste on his tongue, and the rough rasp of his beard against her skin. It felt familiar and right, even though it had been a lifetime since they'd last kissed.

"James…"

He pulled back immediately, his eyes dark and unfathomable as they stared into hers. "No one has called me that in a long time."

"It's your name, isn't it?" she asked with a small flirtatious smile.

The beginnings of a grin appeared. "Sometimes. It's… complicated."

She smirked, then leaned in and kissed him again. It was softer this time, but filled with a lot more passion, and she pressed in closer to him, wanting to feel his hard body against hers.

"Wait," he said, pulling away again. She tilted her head at him questioningly and he slid a hand down her arm to her hand. "It's, well, it's been a while."

She looked up at him and saw the raw need in his eyes. "Afraid I'll say no?"

"Afraid you might say yes," he admitted.

"Then you should be very, very afraid," Natasha said with a small chuckle as she kissed him yet again.

With a growl, he picked her up and carried her to the edge of the room. They tumbled to the bare mattress on the floor, barely breaking their kiss long enough to tear just enough of their clothes off in order to get to one another. She pushed him onto his back and straddled him, taking him in one smooth move. Her fingernails scraped down his chest and he shuddered.

Encouraged by his reaction, she started to move above him, slowly at first and then with increasing speed. In barely any time at all, he came - hard and fast and gasping her name as he held tight to her hips.

She leaned down and gave him one last searing kiss before moving off of him. He grabbed her arm, metal fingers curling around her wrist.

"What?" she asked, looking over at at him, more curious than anything else.

"Nothing," James said, looking embarrassed as he let go. He flexed his fingers awkwardly. "Just didn't want you to go very far."

She smiled gently at him and picked up his hand, lacing her fingers with his. "Wasn't planning on it."

He looked down at their joined hands with a soft smile. "Good."

He left go of her hand and tugged at her shirt, lifting it over her head until she was down to nothing but a lacy bra. With gentle fingers he traced the angry red mark on her shoulder, and then the lighter, puckered one above her hip.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, ducking his head to kiss the scar on her shoulder.

She nudged his chin up and kissed him lightly, shrugging off his apology. "Don't be. If it hadn't been you, it would've been someone else."

He looked at her in confusion. "How can you be so matter-of-fact about it?"

"Because I am," she said. "I've had a lot of practice not taking these things too personally."

"Speaking of practice, I'm may be a little off my game but I know what we just did couldn't have been good for you."

She shrugged again. "I've had worse."

He groaned, and collapsed back onto the mattress. "That's about the worst thing a girl could say to a fella." He lifted up on an elbow. "But I know how to make it up to you."

He trailed his fingers across her breast and down her stomach and she gasped at the sensation.

He raised a brow in invitation. "Want more?"

"Yes, you bastard," she said with a shaky laugh.

He chuckled and slid his hand between her legs, and she lost herself in the feel of him until she was panting with need and he pushed her over the edge with his talented fingers.

With a self-satisfied smirk, he withdrew his hand and wiped his fingers on his shirt.

"You still make that little squeaky noise when you come," he said with a grin.

She shot him a wry smile. "And you still have the most nimble fingers of anyone I know."

His grin got even wider and he rolled onto his back, pulling her in against his side.

They lay quietly for a moment until James broke the silence. "You didn't come here for this."

"No," she admitted. "I came because Steve's looking for you. I tried to warn him away, but he's stubborn. He's not gonna stop until he finds you." She sat up so she could see his face better. "Do you remember Steve?"

He nodded slowly. "He's a different kind of memory than you. Older, not as solid, but… surer."

"That's good. He should be." She got up from the mattress and started to dress.

"You're worried about him," James guessed. "Why?"

She finished pulling her shirt back over her head then shrugged, trying to play off her concern. "He's a friend. But he gets these ideas… I'm not sure he's prepared for who you are now."

"And who am I now?" he asked with his trademark cocky grin. "Do you know? Because I'm not sure I do."

She paused and sat down on the mattress again. She cupped his cheek with her hand and smiled at him. "I don't know. Who do you want to be?"

"Me."

She kissed him softly. "Then be you."

"Is that what you did? Just decided one day and ta-da, done?"

She chuffed softly. "No, I guess not. Took a lot more work than that."

"So who are you now?"

"Natasha," she answered, sure and firm.

"Natasha," he said slowly, the name sounding foreign on his tongue. He frowned. "Not Natalia?"

She shook her head. "Natalia was a lifetime ago. Natasha is now. So I'll ask again, who do you want to be?"

"Bucky. I want to be Bucky," he said, sounding surer than he had the entire time she'd been there.

"Bucky," she repeated, trying it out. It was odd, but fitting. She held out her hand and grinned. "Hello, Bucky. It's nice to meet you. I'm Natasha."


End file.
